


Slimy Endeavours

by inujuju



Series: Claude's Fucking Bingo (Explicit Drabbles) [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claude gets turned on and goes with the flow, Dubious Consent, Minor Angst at End, Minor Implication of Miscarriage, Minor Vore, Monster sex, One Hour Drabble, Other, Oviposition, Size Difference, Tentacles, no beta we die like men, unfertilized eggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inujuju/pseuds/inujuju
Summary: Separated from his fellow soldiers, Claude comes across three giant crawlers of odd nature. He tries to slip by, but unknowingly slips into the mess that they're creating.Well, he's already here, so he might as well enjoy himself.
Relationships: Claude von Reigan/Giant Crawlers, Claude von Riegan/Other(s)
Series: Claude's Fucking Bingo (Explicit Drabbles) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688158
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Slimy Endeavours

**Author's Note:**

> *crosses oviposition off my bingo card*
> 
> I really should have put this down as monster sex instead...
> 
> The miscarriage tag isn't really apt because the eggs are not fertilized, and would thus not result in anything. However, I can understand that it may trigger/squick people out as Claude does feel like he's lost something.

The Giant Crawlers, for what they are worth, curl gently around Claude's bare body. His breaths come out heated, clouding his vision as the pink mucus from the beasts soaks further into his skin. He has tried to slip away from the monsters already, but the passage he had chosen was poor, covered in the beasts fluids. He had assumed, like a fool, that the slight off color meant nothing. That, at most, it was blood mixing with the normally transparent slime.

It wasn't. If Claude had to give a comparison, he would say it was like a fly traps nectar. Drawing in prey for the sake of the predator. Food wasn't the goal though. As Claude's clothes became saturated with the slime, they tore apart, coating his skin and setting ablaze a horrible flame. The way the beasts tangled among each other made the goal clear, even if it was fruitless. Leave it to crest-mad beasts to attempt bestial mating.

One of the crawlers twists around Claude's chest, bumping his nipples and electing a moan. He's been moved from the corners of the room to the center, wrapped tight in all three creatures. They coil around him like he's their mate, instead of a human they would murder.

It is a blessing, at the very least. Better to have a new fetish blossoming in his mind than getting swallowed whole. Claude just hopes he can still walk after all of this. He has things to do.

The slime thickens as the giant worms press against him, causing his movements to slow. His fingers trail across their rough skin, feeling like leather. The way they curl around him, envelope him in their essence, is as disgusting as it is hot, leaving Claude gasping.

A curious crawler, if that is something these beasts can feel, brings its head towards Claude. Saliva drops from it heavily, and it has no _right_ to make Claude arch back, to make him reach out like a needy lover. Perhaps as a result of dimmed humanity, the crawler reacts positively, pushing its large head into Claude's arms. The giant maw should make him tremble in fear, but instead it makes him whine and writhe.

A desperate need to _act_ , rather than just receive worms into Claude's brain. He peppers the rough hide with kisses, small pecks against the larger creature. His hands pet along its mouth, slipping in to stroke the large tongue. It's obscene how erotic it makes Claude feel, like a part of him wants to climb into that warm, moist, cavern.

To Claude's benefit, the beast begins to recuperate in a means other than eating him. Its fat tongue slips out, pressing against Claude's face in a demanding way. It smells of damp earth, most likely having been crawling through the dirt for an uncountable time. The floral smell of the mating fluids mixes with it too well and Claude feels far more relaxed than he has in a long time.

The crawler's tongue brushes around his face, pressing against it like a kiss. While it is far to large to for Claude to respond properly, he moves his own tongue against the beast's. His hands stroke against the length in time with his mouth. The other crawlers maneuver his body, laying him full against the wet appendage. Claude cries at the wet press to his cock. Stirred on by his voice, another tongue joins the fray, covering his lower half and pressing against his balls.

In his lust-driven state, Claude moans, pressing against the beasts. His body moves with the tongues, unhindered by the slime covering them all. His breathing comes out garbled and choked as he twists and twines, desperate for contact and release.

Something presses up against his back, the final crawler. Claude's eyes can see it's head looming above him, as if assessing the situation while the other two drive Claude insane. Its lower half continues to slide against Claude, the rose-colored fluid suctioning Claude to it.

The tongue against his face retreats, curling in on itself before forcing itself inside of Claude's mouth. He gasps, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth becomes overstuffed. The appendage's underside has small bumps that twist in his mouth, feeling like a million little tongues mapping out his insides. The crawlers jaws have widened, stretching closer to Claude's flesh. He should be concerned about being eaten, but Claude feels like he's being drugged instead. The beast's saliva slips down his throat easily, warm and heavy. When the crawler presses too far down his throat, he gags, chokes. White paints his vision for a flash but the crawler pulls back before Claude faints.

The tongue moves to his chest, as if in apology for suffocating Claude. With his face free once more, Claude whines up at the final crawler. It hovers still, body warm and stable against his back. It's head darts around, as if picking up on something that Claude is unable too. The small fraction of his brain left functioning wonders what such a mindless beast could be thinking.

The crawler against his legs slathers its tongue against his cock, causing him to cry out. Its actions become more active, twisting and pumping, spurred on by Claude's growing addition to the wet mess around them. His precum is so minimum in comparison to the slime lathering him, but it doesn't matter. The crawler tasting him gives its own cry, one that's answered by the one against his chest and echoed in Claude's own voice.

The two thick tongues wrap around his body with their underside so the small ridges can tease Claude's nerves. He looses track of his voice, of his state of mind. He comes when one crawler wraps his cock in a tight grasp. After that everything starts to blur. Excited by his recuperation, the two crawlers chase orgasm after orgasm out of Claude until the pink-colored slime begins to whiten more and more.

Claude feels the hiss throughout the bodies trapping him after his third orgasm. The overseeing crawler finally attends to his cries, pressing its head against Claude's needy hands. For a moment it just holds him like that, pressing their bodies close between the other beasts. Claude starts to breath even again, his mind drifting back into place.

There is something intimate about this moment, a strange feeling draping over him as the crawlers breathe with him.

Then Claude feels it, the crux of what this intercourse has been building towards. A small egg presses against his back. His brain understands what they want immediately, and he should be ashamed at how hot that make him feel. At the mad laugh that escapes him. 

One of his hands leaves the largest crawler, twisting around his body. The fluid holding him to the crawlers is thicker than the others, holding its shape far better than what has been mixed with saliva and cum. Claude presses his hand into it, moaning at the feel of how warm and tight the liquid is. 

He arches his back, the crawlers moving with him to keep him attached to the slime. Claude presses his hand against his hole, amazed at the burning nerves lining the outside. The touch of the other crawlers has numbed his body, but this part of him still reacts, still _aches_ with a foreign need. His finger slips in easily, and Claude has to breath loudly, to count in time with his thrusts. If he isn't careful, the wonderful presence of eggs inside him won't turn out well.

The crawlers are patient. The ones against coiled tight against him nuzzle in appreciation, while the one above croons. The vibrations the sound slips into him makes Claude gasp, come again, and stretch his hole even further.

It doesn't take long for all his fingers to fit inside him. If Claude twists himself just a bit more, he could probably fit his whole hand inside. The exorbitant amount of fluids makes everything so easy and pleasant. Before he can try pleasing himself further, one of the crawlers pulls at his arm with its tongue. It urges his hand away form his body. Letting it go, Claude finds himself lax against the beasts, ready for the intrusive build.

The first egg pushes in, moving easily through the fluid as the largest crawler finally becomes an active participant. Its body contracts against Claude, manipulating the fluid between them and pushing more eggs inside him. After the first one clears the way, the others soon follow. The tight press of them against his rim, the satisfying hum when they make it past, the heavy weight as they settle inside, its all Claude wants at this moment.

He whines with the beasts, rocking against the slime sac to encourage more eggs inside. One of the crawler's tongue presses against his stomach gently, causing Claude to giggle. He can feel the eggs inside him shift at the movement. Something euphoric fills Claude's mind and body. His hands pet the beasts more, crooning and praising them for their work, for their attention to him

"I love them so much," he says, drunk on ecstasy. "Fill me up with all of them, okay lovelies?" 

The crawler pressing eggs into him croons, whines, pressing against his lips as if to share a kiss.

Claude thinks he counted eight eggs by the time they stop. Yet the pressure inside him, the feeling of something separate from himself, begs the thought that there is more. 

"How many did you put in me?" He teases, voice high and satisfied.

With no more eggs among them, the crawlers begin to unravel from Claude. The croon and sing, pleased. Claude is left attached to the largest one, the one that keeps its head pressed into his arms. The two lower to the ground together, and Claude feels the liquid holding him finally adhering to gravity. His partners in this madness curl around him, and Claude feels himself doze in their warmth.

Sound filters on and off after that. There is a collection of voices that call out, a hissing scream following soon after, and the leather skin against Claude's bare flesh tightening. He's present enough to know that monsters won't be with him much longer. The crawlers who fell to animal instincts are now reverting back their murderous ones. Still, the one Claude lays against keeps its head pressed tight against his stomach, as if listening for a hundred little heart beats.

There will be none. The crest beasts cannot reproduce, and the fact that they can even create eggs is a mystery to unravel when Claude returns to the surface. For now he lulls softly against his mate, laying against it as magic and battle cries fill the air.

The crawler against him doesn't move when Teach approaches, it doesn't even hiss. Claude feels something like tears prick at his eyes. He wonders, not for the first time, what these empty creatures feel, if there is some aspect of humanity left in them.

The Sword of the Creator cuts the beast apart, ripping the warmth away from Claude's cooling body. He slumps against the still head, feeling empty and drained despite the pressure in his belly. Even the firm hand of the professor against his back doesn't rouse him. There are words filtering above him, worry and horror. Claude supposes those are the right way to react to his current state.

What must his fellow soldiers think of him, bare naked with a bulging stomach? Something get pressed into his mouth, a capsule of sorts. The professor locks his jaw and plugs his nose, forcing him to swallow to breath. His body chokes for air once the medicine goes down his throat. It breaks inside his stomach, causing his muscles to spasm.

 _No..._ He wants to cry out. _Don't take them from me._

A hand covered in cold steel joins the professor's on his back. There is strength there, stability, and an deep desire to help Claude. He cries regardless, the metal scraping against his back, so unlike the crawlers leather skin. The movement encourages his body to contract, to push out what doesn't belong. No matter how much Claude wants the eggs to say.

The squelch out, loud and wet and borderline painful. Claude is covered in tears, though he doesn't know if it is from loss or pain. He curls against a warm body, sturdy and dry and draped in color. Words of encouragement are whispered, of sorrow and regret for not finding him sooner, for Claude having to fight alone.

One of the eggs falls wrong, heavy with _something_ and cracks. The shattering sound breaks Claude down and he wails, he shakes, he pushes and pulls. More words are exchanged and magic falls against him, an illusion of something gentle. Claude grabs at it like a drowning man, letting the wave take him under into a world where he is still has a family of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> It's okay Claude, you'll be fine once the hormones calm down.


End file.
